


Solidarity of Seconds

by agdhani



Category: Roleplay - Fandom
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 21:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16145567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agdhani/pseuds/agdhani
Summary: This is a random roleplay chapter, with a lot of characters mentioned, used to fulfill a selection of LJ bingo prompts.It totally does not make sense outside of the context of the roleplayhaven world, but this is the only way to make it accessible to my LJ community lol.To Sum: With his wife missing, the head of the family has organized a gladiatorial style combat for any of the women in the family to participate in to determine who is going to 'rule' by his side. The whole family knows that, against Dany and her dragons, and West and her magic, no one else stands a chance...and most of the family has not given up on the Lady of the House returning.  Thus...few are looking forward to the upcoming combat. This is how those on 'my' side of the House are coping...or not coping.





	Solidarity of Seconds

It seemed to Cassian, as he came through the front door after a long Sunday of riding, that the great house had turned into one great spa or retreat…and not the sort where one went to indulge in the carnal cravings of the flesh. No this was the sort of place now, at least in its current aura of being, where those who suffered retreated to in order to relax, recover, forget.

Forget…what was due to transpire with the rising of the sun the following day.

He had seen a lot as he had traversed the galaxy, but somehow, this felt to be the most insane, ludicrous thing he had ever stumbled across. And for a man who had partaken in a suicide mission in the hopes of saving the galaxy, that was saying a lot.

The entrance hall was awash in the aroma of fried chicken, and through the archways at the end of the room, arches that led into the dining room, Stasio could be seen adding another mountain-high platter of fried chicken on the table…the third platter there, though the other two looked as if they had already been ransacked and a fourth, now empty, was collected and taken back to the kitchen.

The ultimate comfort food, several family members had told him. From the looks of it, Stasio…and whoever could be heard moving about in the kitchen…were finding just as much comfort in cooking it as the family would find, was finding, in eating it. There were other bowls in place there, but what they contained, Cassian could not tell from where he stood as he hung up his jacket and toed off his muddy boots.

Since coming to Tigh Ard, since trying to learn his place in this existence without a galactic war ripping it apart, he had discovered a deep love for those majestic beasts called horses the family kept. Not for racing them around the track in the quest for ever-greater speeds, but in roaming the forests and fields and coastline surrounding Tigh Ard, losing himself in the grandeur of nature where the bustle of cities and the clash and clatter of combat. It was where he had retreated to this morning, in the vain hope that he would come home and find that Tamara was home…or that he would at least find that tomorrow’s farce, a battle for power that most of the participants didn’t really want…would have been called off.

Judging by what he could see and hear around him, neither of those hope had been fulfilled.

On the trail he had passed Luke, Hunter, Cullan, Julian and Tyler out walking, their respective postures tense, their faces pensive and brooding. This whole situation had to be particularly rough on the Bruce children, but their father, for whatever reason, seems to have forgotten their existence, seemed to have stopped caring about them…or about anyone else except himself and the two women who routinely shared his bed. Cassian had seen his share of despots.

For some undiscernible reason, Carl was becoming one of them.

In the ground floor library, a handful of individuals had congregated around the newly returned Obi-wan and the stately elf Gil-galad, one of the families longest members, to be led through some form of guided meditation. It was peculiar to see the dwarves there, as they expressed little tolerance for Gil on most days, and yet they were, along with both Spocks, Tevan, Kajan, Athelstan and others. For a moment, Cassian was tempted to join them, to take advantage of the peculiar peace emanating from that room, but if the day’s ride in quiet solitude had not helped clear his head, he doubted meditation was going to help.

The largest group seemed to have congregated in the family room, joining Conor who had been on that sofa since early that morning, stress ball in hand being squeezed at a furious pace, the tv on loud enough to be heard throughout most of the first floor at least. He appeared to be indulging in a marathon of Robin William comedy skits, and those with him…the majority of Gamma Team, Erik, Lucian, Marcus, Lachlan and others, were losing their stress to the intense laughter the legend on the screen drew forth. Chicken bones from the feast Stasio was providing were piled on a tray on the coffee table, and empty beer bottles were accumulating in two large plastic totes near the patio door, revealing that finding something to laugh at was not the only way these men were managing to cope with their stress.

Nor, was Cassian sure, it was the healthiest.

Since he had not eaten all day, he left the chaos for the relative peace of the dining room to partake of the meal provided. He assumed the chicken…with its mashed potato and gravy side and several varieties of pies, would be dinner. As the sun set and day waned, it did not appear there would be a more formal meal set.

The Laird’s ‘commandment’ of gathering for Sunday dinner be damned. The entire family, it appeared, was staging a protest in the only ways they knew how.

Ashleigh Thornton had pulled two chair over to the wide windows overlooking the side garden. He sat in one, propped his feet on the other, and was madly writing something in the small notebook he was often seen carrying with him. Every now and then he paused to stare into the twilight before resuming work on his journal, and when Cassian came in, he lifted his head, nodded once, and then went back to writing. Thornton was a quiet man. Cassian like him. He didn’t cause trouble. The last thing this family needed was people who caused trouble.

Some of those potentially prone to cause trouble were finding a safer outlet for their aggressions and frustration in the gym and the pool outside the glass doors on the other side of the dining room. Faith was indulging in fierce combat with the punching bag and it was unclear, as the bag had not yet been broken from its moorings, who was winning the fight. Logan was doing rapid-fire chin ups, Gannicus and Hector were taking turns with the weight machines, and Boromir, Alexander, and Khan were racing each other in the Olympic sized swimming pool. To one side of the room humid room, Rhys and River were rehearsing dance moves, more for the physical activity then to perfect any routine.

Eyes turning back to Logan, Cassian mused over whether physical exhaustion was enough to forget.

And since most in the family were expecting Faith to be one of those to participate in tomorrow’s challenge, was it really a good idea for her to wear herself out this way?

It wasn’t really Cassian’s business. He knew the opponents she was up against. Anyone who really thought they stood a chance against West or Dany was insane.

John Watson, Frank Martin, Destiny and Lincoln, lounging in the hot tub that someone had, against family policy, filled with fruity scented bubble bath, looked to have a much better idea, and as Horatio, just barely home from work, joined them, Cassian thought they might be on to something.

It certainly was not the typical sort of comfort seeking one might expect from such men. Then again, why the hell not? It wasn’t what Cassian wanted, however, and so he left the dining room with his meal plate and went back through the entrance hall into the corridor that led to the music room. It might not be quieter there, but surely music would be calmer then the steam and testosterone of all those working out.

He passed the study, where Brodie sat on the edge of the desk, alone in the dark, speaking to someone on his cell phone in a quiet, strained voice that, when he saw Cassian passing, fell abruptly silent long enough for him to get up from his perch and close the door. Hearing the name ‘John,’ Cassian assumed Brodie was speaking with Constantine. About the upcoming ritual, he wondered, or something more personal. It was obvious Brodie had a huge emotional hard-on for the exorcist, despite John’s repeated attempts to discourage him. But as Constantine frequently asked Brodie for help on various tasks, it didn’t look like he was trying hard enough; Cassian was of the opinion that John had a thing for Brodie too, unrequited though it was.

If he was enlisting Brodie’s help to get Tamara home, then whatever they were doing together, Cassian was all for it. They were both adults. They knew damn well what they were doing.

Behind the closed door of Carl’s medical office, the distinctive cries of Sidney and John Clayton reverberated through the walls, making Cassian shake his head. Regardless of how they seemed to be taking this situation on the outside, Cassian felt it obvious that the SIDs were finding this sort of chaos just as difficult as everyone else…and it had become obvious in Cassian’s short time in the family that the SIDs took comfort in sex…lots of sex…with the men they had married. Whatever Sidney and John were doing, why they had chosen the medical office, Cassian didn’t want to know.

He just hoped it helped. Stressed out SIDs was not a possibility he wanted to contemplate.

As expected, the music room had accumulated its share of family members desperate for solace, release, and distraction tonight. Curt, Vitaly, Mal, and Kai had formed an impromptu band and were jamming together, filling the east wing of the house with the reverberation of electric notes. Others were their listening, some of the residents of Coven Hall, Lindsey, Dhori, Eliot, Kurt, and others probably all awaiting their turn to participate and add to the cacophony of sound. Even Kavan was there, the music drawing him in even if it was not the type he typically played. Matty and Duffy, the peculiar gecko and Ewok duo that flitted in and out of Tigh Ard’s goings on without ever seeming to be fully a part of it, were dancing in one corner of the room, or rather Duffy was dancing while the gecko clung to his furry shoulder with all of his might. The making of music, the listening, the reveling in it was as much of a comfort to this group as anything else was.

But it still wasn’t what Cassian wanted. He ate his meal as he listened, and when his plate was empty, he silently made his escape from the music room without anyone likely noticing his departure.

He took his plate to the kitchen, where the cooking had ceased and Andrew was helping Stasio, David and Jessie with the tedious process of cleanup. Hardly priestly work, but Andrew and Stasio got along well, and the kitchen was about the only place left to engage in a quiet conversation with sympathetic souls. Rather than leave the plate on the table with the rest of the discarded dinnerware, Cassian emptied the waste into the bins that would be added to the compost later and put his plate on the counter…instead of getting in the way of the others…before disappearing into the greenhouse and out the back door into the cool night air, where there sea breeze blew steadily, bringing in no promise of rain which might bring a halt to the upcoming event.

Too bad, he mused.

Then again, Carl probably would have forced the women to fight in the rain and wrestle in the mud. It would be just like him.

In the distance, a moving truck had pulled up in front of Coven Hall and Lestat and Louis stood conversing while his most recent splurge, a host of new antique furniture, was emptied from a delivery truck and carried through the front doors. Cassian was not sure it was splurging if one could afford such purchases with ease, but since the Coven leader did not need new furnishings, as Cassian had heard Vasagi complaining last night, it probably did. Other pieces, equally antique, were being taken out of the house and loaded into the truck to be taken somewhere unknown. Lestat had been more enigmatic then ever of late and Cassian wondered what secrets he was keeping. Given the Laird’s behavior, it was really no wonder that secrets were being kept. They all probably had them now. Tonight’s acting out by forgoing the usual Sunday family dinner was probably the first secret they had not tried to keep from the Head of House.

Cassian had few doubts there would be payback for their flagrant disobedience.

Most of the family, Cassian included, didn’t really care.

He had not seen Rain tonight, but knew the Lady’s ‘brother’ was grieving the loss in the only way he knew how…out on his boat, alone, beneath the rising moon. Rain was struggling to be the number one proponent of the ‘she’s not dead; she will be back,’ contingent in the family, but each passing day made that harder to believe. Just because Carl had come back from the dead, terribly worse for wear it was obvious, did not mean that Tamara would too. He had the added burden of trying to keep Patricia’s spirits up, working to reassure her that her daughter was only ‘away’, but Patricia, it seemed, had given up before everyone else.

Everyone else, perhaps, except Carl.

And while the angels, Cassian knew, would have gathered as they did most nights now atop Tigh Ard’s tower, and the newcomer Conrael had driven into Havensport to check in on Murdock, and Cassie and her family having taken the triplets for the night to remove them from what she deemed to be the unhealthy air in Tigh Ard, there was still one man Cassian had not seen.

One man he finally spied silhouetted on the cliff near the chapel, sitting with his back to the house and his face to the sea.

They did not get on well. Charles Vane did not get along well with many people on most days, although he was gradually forming a core of supporters around him as he proved his aptitude as Second to Murdock, his ability to bring men together and get things done when the need arose. It was the two of them being Seconds, both coming into the family at close to the same time, that gave them common ground. That, and it really was no stretch for Cassian to imagine himself having been a pirate in the world from which Vane hailed…or imagining Charles as a co-pilot in the Resistance in Cassian’s world.

Often times it felt like they were more alike than they knew, and for once, when Cassian reached the cliff and sat down beside him, his legs stretched out in contrast to Vane’s being drawn up to his torso, the pirate only glanced at him with an acknowledging grunt before resuming his perusal of the watery horizon.

Sitting here, breathing deep. Listening to the pulsing surf. Feeling the spray of it as the high tide crashed against the rocks at the base of the cliff. Watching stars rise from the place where sky and sea met to begin their crawling dance across the night.

Of all the ways the family was coping with the crush of oncoming disaster this night, this was the one that felt right to Cassian. This was the one that eased his soul.

In that, it seemed, he and Vane were alike too.

The solidarity of Seconds. Maybe if they could come together in this, they could find a way to help the rest of the family too.


End file.
